hey sent a hail of bullets after
me; I sent all I had back--I winged one of them--I fancy he was the
leader, and while they picked him up I got ahead; but, unluckily, before
I was out of shot-range my horse was shot under me. I got clear of the
saddle and bolted into the scrub. I gave them the slip for the time.
I've been crawling like a dog through the chaparral--but you know as
well as I do, those fellows are like blood-hounds on the scent. I was
pretty nearly dead-beat when I caught sight of this place. I little
thought it was _you_ that I should find here."

"What is to be done?" she said, not helplessly wondering, but actively
thinking. "First of all, you must eat and drink. Then--we must see what
is the safest thing for you."

She set bread and meat and milk on the table; and Desmond fell to the
simple meal as if half famished.

"My brother's horse is in the stable," said Barbara, thoughtfully. "He's
fast, is old Sultan, and might take you safe--if we only knew from which
quarter they'd be coming; and I'd take the risk with Tom."

"You must risk nothing for me," he rejoined. "I see, Barbara, you are
what you always were--the salt of the earth! I deserve of you that you
should shut your door on me now--that when they come this way after me
you should send them on my trail. But--you won't do it?"

"No," she replied, slowly. "I will not do it."

He leant forward, resting his arm on the table, and looked at her. The
oil-lamp that stood between them shed a circle of light in which he saw
her face, unshrinking, steadfast, wrought up to high resolve.

"You were always too good for me, Barbara," he said. "Are you such an
angel as to have forgiven me?"

"What has that to do with it?" she rejoined, coldly. "Enough that if I
can help you now, I will."

She was looking at him as intently as he at her. She saw how changed was
the face of the idol of her girlhood--poor shattered idol with the feet
of clay--base metal she had taken for pure gold! It was not only that he
was older--he had aged more than she--but a subtler change had passed
over him; he was hardened, embittered, coarsened, undefinably
deteriorated. She saw the colour mount in his haggard cheek at her calm
words.

"Coals of fire," he said, with a touch of bitter mockery that disguised
pain. "Well, if it's a comfort to you to know it, Barbara, _they burn_."

"Which way are they most likely to come?" she asked, putting personal
questions determinedly asi